


And She Never Wanted to Leave

by Mad_Mage



Series: Soulmates AU [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Divergence - War of The Five Kings, Canon-Typical Violence, Dreamsharing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship, Growling Lannisters, Heavy Angst, Older Man/Younger Woman, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:48:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 17,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23931835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Mage/pseuds/Mad_Mage
Summary: Long before Sansa had been born, she had loved the man, and she knew with certainty that she would never stop even after her current life ended.---Soulmates AU featuring one obstinate lion, one gentle wolf, and an abundance of dreamsharing.
Relationships: Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Jaime Lannister & Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Sansa Stark, Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark
Series: Soulmates AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1465219
Comments: 318
Kudos: 460





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Nothing’s mine, I’m just a poor mad mage.  
> \---  
> Welcome to the newest story in my soulmates AU series! To avoid any confusion, this one is Jaime/Sansa. Chapters are short due to my injury but I still hope you’ll have some fun : )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little wolf dreams of her soulmate...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N January 2021: Hey there, don't get discouraged by the cover picture! I'm learning how to draw, and I can pull off only faces (not that well, obviously *giggles*) This story is about Jaime, and that happens to be the only picture of Jaime I drew, so I used that... Have fun with the story *winks*

Winterfell, 298 AC

The feeling was always the same. She fell and when she gasped, she was _there_. Sansa logically knew that she hadn’t moved an inch and her body was safely tucked in her bed… but her soul traveled both through time and space in search of its other half.

She didn’t know who he was or where he dwelt.

She just knew him.

He was the boy with a bright smile and golden hair. He was the youth whose eyes sparkled like emeralds. He was the man whose blood was so red against fresh snow, so dark against yellow sands. He was the one who had betrayed them and broken the bond before they even had a chance to meet. He was the one who had forsaken her without looking into her eyes at least once.

Yet Sansa couldn’t hate him.

Her soul still searched his out, during the moments between yesterday and tomorrow, before the first rays of sunlight touched the world when the moon was still high in the sky. She knew him and she loved him, and she mourned him like the loss he would become once she would see him in person, once she would say his name and no bond would form.

The boy was weeping this night and Sansa approached him, touching his tousled hair with her fingertips so very gently. When he looked up at her, she smiled.

“Hello, little prince,” she whispered for he was everything a prince in her mind should be; a charming child, so very beautiful.

“Oh, it’s you.” He hiccupped and sat up. His face was that of a boy, but a man’s eyes looked up at her. She would know those eyes everywhere, every time. “I haven’t seen you for so long.”

“I don’t get to choose when I can or cannot visit.” She never knew the time – his time. He would be a mischievous boy one night and the next, he would be a sad man, and the visit after that, he would be a small child playing in mud or perhaps a grinning young squire with a sword slung over his shoulder.

He nodded and turned away, hiding his tears. With a trembling voice, he said, “My mother died this afternoon.”

“I am so sorry…” Sansa swallowed and reached out to touch him.

“No, don’t!” He jerked away. Another hiccup and then, “Please?”

“You don’t want me to…”

He nodded silently, the look in his eyes heartbroken. “It’s so much worse when I wake up and no one is really here.”

She knew what he meant. She did. Yet it still hurt so much. “I am sorry.”

“So am I.” Still not looking at her, the beautiful boy burrowed under the furs on his bed and she watched him close his eyes. “But you’re not here and you won’t be here and… Until next time, I guess.”

Then she fell again and gasped and woke up. In her dream travels, the form she took was also ever-changing just like his. Her soul was old but she woke up a young girl of thirteen with tears gathering in her eyes. The dream was quickly losing details and sharpness, and only one thing remained clear to her. He didn’t want her to touch him. He didn’t want her, had never wanted her.

For a moment, Sansa looked up at her left hand, where a thin blue thread curled around her wrist in a simple pattern. A pretty thing, she sighed, pity that it meant nothing because the soul who had a matching mark had already broken the bond.

Sansa knew. She had seen _them_ in his dreams and had felt the delicate something between their souls shudder and break. Only a faint echo of what could have been stayed in the bond’s place, a weakened link bringing pain rather than comfort and despair rather than hope. She wished she could hate him but hated herself instead of for yearning for him still, and the weakness that the mark brought her.

Then the King came, bringing a handsome golden prince and a man with an old soul who had given his heart to his twin instead of his soulmate. When Lord Stark asked his daughter if she wanted the prince, if she was sure she did not want to wait for her soulmate, it took only one lie to seal the betrothal, only a few whispered words, “I don’t dream of him.”

Sansa then hid her mark and never spoke of it, never met his eyes or listened to his voice, and never ever under any circumstances said his name out loud.

He didn’t want her and she wished… She wished not to want him, not to dream of him, and never set her eyes on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been some time since one of you asked me to write Jaime and Sansa as soulmates, so I hope that whoever it was will forgive the delay. I also know there are like a hundred other stories I need to work on but hear me out! *stares at you pleadingly*  
> Unlike the rest of my fics, this one works well with short chapters and I challenged myself to write it consistently. You can expect an update every Thursday – and that’s a promise *winks* It also doesn't mean that I won't work on my other stories. I will - and that's another promise. A bit of order will do me good (I spent forty minutes hiding in the bathroom this afternoon so I wouldn’t have to do math with our youngest. My partner wasn’t impressed but I expect to return to my exile when the time for physics comes).  
> Stay safe, love Mage :)


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a certain member of the Kingsguard thinks about his bond?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos and kind reception of this project of mine *blushes* Now, let’s get inside Jaime’s head :)

King’s Landing, 285 AC

It was too late, he thought bitterly every time the feeling of falling assaulted him. There wasn’t anything peaceful in it, his heart always missed a beat and his stomach lurched and Jaime felt like throwing up before he opened his eyes and gazed at his dream surroundings.

It had happened earlier that year for the first time and it had been too bloody late. Before that, it had been _her_ who visited _him_ in his dreams. Sometimes she came as a willowy girl just reaching womanhood, sometimes a child’s face grinned at him as she offered to play a tag, and once a wrinkled old woman with aching joints and back bent by age told him a bedtime story. Her eyes were always the same, though – kind and gentle – and Jaime had known before ever seeing them in the waking world, that they reflected a soul that was too good for the likes of him.

A kingslayer. A sister-fucker.

What Jaime considered his greatest sin, though, wasn’t killing Aerys or betraying his vows. He was a bond-breaker for he loved another. Despite her presence in his dreams, he had chosen to love another, he had pledged his heart to his sister – the only one who he had believed to be his true other half.

As a boy, he hadn’t understood. Why had it been always her who had come to him? A mighty knight was the one who was supposed to seek out his lady and Jaime as a child had believed that he was going to grow up to be the mightiest of them all. As the years had slowly passed, he had started to think that there had been something wrong with the bond, that she had been out of his reach, and that had been the reason why he hadn’t been able to visit.

Jaime had started to despise her and her visits and the fact that he would not ever be able to find her – how could he, if the bond was faulty, after all?

“There you are!” She laughed and a pair of delicate hands skimmed over his shoulders. The scent of lemongrass assaulted his senses and Jaime briefly closed his eyes at the fresh sweet smell. Then she danced into his line of sight from behind, all bright smiles and laughing blue eyes and hair like fire.

Cersei was stunning, alluring, tempting. His sister was a goddess among mortals… but the beauty of the woman before him was beyond compare. There was a softness in her face and her eyes that Cersei lacked, gentleness not many people in the world possessed; a gods’ gift for sympathy and forgiveness which Jaime did not deserve.

He knew that she knew and yet she came to him, yet she allowed him to come to her and seek a respite from the seventh hell of his waking hours. Just this evening he had been forced to listen to Robert’s bedding the queen and Jaime had almost barged in and run his sword through the drunkard.

“Someone is in a good mood tonight,” he said and took a step back, away from her reach. He did not want the woman’s touch to ease his pain. Not today – and perhaps never.

Her expression fell momentarily. “You don’t want me to…”

“I am sorry.”

The look in her eyes was familiar, as her words had been. Had he heard her speak them before? Had he rejected her in their dreams as he had in the real world? It was possible. Jaime never knew the time or the place when he would visit her, he just knew that his soul still despite everything reached out to her through time and space where terms like past, present, or future did not matter. In the dream world where they met, only little from the outside mattered.

She tilted her head to the side, listening to sounds he was unable to hear. Then she smiled, the heartache in the curve of her lips so achingly honest that Jaime wished he was a better man, a patient man who had waited for her, who hadn’t fractured something precious and fragile into pieces.

“Until the next time, then,” she said, the painful smile lingering, piercing him like an arrow to the gut.

Then he gasped, his stomach heaved, and he fell.

Covered in sweat, Jaime swallowed several times, raising his left arm and staring at the thin blue pattern wound around his wrist. The mark, the only thing on his body that his sister had never touched, couldn’t even bear to look at.

He didn’t know the woman’s name, he didn’t know where she lived, who she was. He never would because he had chosen someone else, had betrayed their bond long before it could be forged. What he had of her was more than enough. Ever looking into his soulmate’s eyes was something that would hurt them even further, and he swore not to subject her to that kind of pain.

Jaime laid his head down and wrapped his arm around Cersei’s back. This was his life, this was real. They had an hour or two, maybe, before even this stolen bliss would be ripped from him. Closing his eyes, the Kingsguard willed his heartbeat to calm.

As a man, Jaime understood. She hadn’t been born when he had been a boy – so how he could have visited her dreams, then? Perhaps he even regretted his decisions. However, he was a man grown and he was willing to live with the consequences of his choices to the very end.

His love and loyalty belonged to his sister, who had been with him every step of his journey and whom he trusted wholeheartedly. The pretty lady from his dreams was nothing but a fleeting fantasy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Jaime, you silly man *sighs* As Ty always said, you’re a slow learner *shakes her head* It’s a good thing I like Jaime more than some other characters, isn’t it? *grins*  
> On another note, I feel obliged to inform you guys that you might want to think about getting some paper tissues ready *nods to herself* I’ve got some at hand while I write this (and Blood of the Wolf, too) and I’ll be happy to share my supply with you *winks*  
> Stay safe, love Mage :)


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every maiden dreams of a golden prince, doesn’t she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I’m beginning to like this shorter format. It’s kind of fun to only hint at things *grins* Now, enjoy the next chapter :)

The Crossroads, 298 AC

SansaSansa had done her best not to be in the Kingsguard’s presence if possible. She didn’t look in his direction, never directly spoke to him, and made sure that she did not have to address him at all. The man was everything her dreams had promised him to be – tall, handsome, and strong but he was also in love with another – in love with _the queen_ … and Sansa knew that what Ser Jaime and Queen Cersei did was treason.

Should she tell someone? Her father, maybe? But then she would have to admit how she could possibly know and that was a frightening thought. She wanted to forget the truth, she wanted to pretend that they did not share the same mark. Many people spent their lives with colorful bracelets inked on their skin without ever searching for their other half. Sansa was beginning to understand why that was preferable to finding only disappointment.

Taking a shuddering breath, Sansa blinked and tried not to think about it. She would be soon married to another handsome golden prince, she would, and she will get her fairytale ending, she just had to believe it. What else could she hope for?

More tears slipped down Sansa’s cheeks as she was lying on her cot, wide awake and afraid to close her eyes and fall asleep. The last thing she wanted was to fall into his dream or find him in hers. Her view of him would never be the same – just like her opinion of the queen was forever tainted. Not only was she sleeping with her _brother_ , but she wasn’t kind, wasn’t gracious. To have Lady – an innocent, gentle animal – killed for no reason? Sansa couldn’t understand it, did not know what to make of it.

No, the last thing she wanted was to be on the queen’s bad side, especially when she was going to marry Joffrey. She had to keep the secret to herself and she had to be careful not to further anger the royal family. It was for the best – that way, no one else would get hurt.

Once she reached her decision, Sansa lost her battle with sleep. It didn’t take long for him to appear. He was a dashing knight this time and Sansa’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of him in his white and gold. Coming to think of it, Ser Jaime in her dream looked remarkably like Ser Jaime in the real world had just a few hours ago. He reminded her too much of the queen’s brother for her to be comfortable in his presence and she gasped upon seeing him taking a step closer.

“I am sorry for your direwolf,” he said, confirming her suspicions. In the dreams, there was something different about him; he was more approachable, less arrogant. Sansa felt herself relaxing despite her nervousness – the child she was in the real world slipping away from her like well-worn clothes at the end of a long, tiring day.

“Thank you.”

The knight took another step closer to her and Sansa glanced down at herself. She too looked like her real self in the waking world – a girl of thirteen in her nightclothes and tear tracks on her cheeks. She shuddered and wrapped her arms around her middle, self-conscious about her appearance.

“Here, let me just…” Ser Jaime took off his cloak and placed it around her shoulders. He was so much taller than Sansa and as she looked up into his face, she realized what was truly different about him.

Outside of the dreams, his expression was never this open. Outside, he was the despised Kingslayer and he smirked and joked and teased. Here, in this little refugee from the harshness of wakefulness, he was just Jaime, the other half of her soul which stared back at her from his eyes. His expression was honest and she could easily see his discomfort and his bashfulness, the shame she had never seen before.

“I love her,” he said suddenly and swallowed. His hands fell from her shoulders and he took a deep breath. “She loves me. Cersei was with me from the beginning… when you… when…”

“I understand.” Sansa forced the words out, almost choked on them. She never was one for lying and she did understand that he did not love her, that he loved his sister. It didn’t make it any less painful.

“You’ll be a queen one day.” He tried for a smile. “Every maiden dreams of that, doesn’t she?”

“Every maiden dreams of her golden prince.” Sansa nodded – more to hide her face than to agree. She had spent her life dreaming about him and for the mercy of gods, she hoped that this was the last time he came to visit. Her thirteen-year-old self could hardly wrap her mind about what had become of her life, Sansa didn’t need this. She needed to be free of him.

“I wish you luck and happiness in your life,” she said next and pinched the tender skin of her inner forearm, wishing to wake up, to get away from him. The pain was real, a breath of fresh air.

“Yes, I wish you the same.” His face reflected the sincerity and Sansa smiled at him when he whispered, “Farewell.”

With a gasp, she woke and covered her mouth with her hand, blinking back the sleep from her eyes. The memory of the dream stayed with her sharp and acute as if it had been a real conversation. When the morning came, Sansa’s head hurt from trying to make sense of it, and she gave up, praying for the confusion and pain to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sighs* Well, she IS thirteen and we’ve already covered how Jaime is stuck loving his sister. I hope I managed to convey the fact that Sansa’s soul may be old but Sansa is just a girl and she has a long way to go. They both have some growing up to do *offers paper tissues in advance*  
> Lots of love, Mage :)


	4. Part IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime is offered an opportunity for some soul searching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s time to speed this up a little. Here’s another dose of good old angst *offers paper tissues in advance*

Whispering Wood, 298 AC

Robb Stark was Sansa’s true reflection. If Jaime didn’t know better, he could have sworn that he was faced with her twin brother, Sansa’s other half. That thought disturbed him in ways Jaime did not understand but disliked all the same. Was it possible that she could find the same happiness with her brother as Jaime had found with Cersei?

But no, no. Not everyone looked at the world through the same eyes. What he and Cersei did was not the norm, it was not natural, and Jaime knew it. Sansa’s carefully veiled revulsion at his actions let him know that she would never sink so low. The Starks liked to have the moral high ground, didn’t they? For them, incest was unthinkable, unforgivable.

Yet their family resemblance was strong and seeing something of Sansa in her brother made his blood boil. Jaime did his best to insult the boy, to provoke him, yet the young Northman looked at him with derision and refused to fight him. Why should he? The boy had already won.

After Jaime’s victory at the Golden Tooth, such a devastating defeat by a green boy was too bitter to swallow. His father would be forced to retreat, probably to Harrenhal. Jaime wasn’t foolish enough to believe that there would be a rescue attempt. His only chance for freedom was a trade. Cersei held Lord Stark and his daughters hostage and he had no doubt that his twin would do everything in her power to get him back.

He smiled at the thought and ignored the pain in his beaten body. Cersei would not let him rot away in this dirty hole a moment longer than necessary.

The knight sneered at the guards for good measure and then closed his eyes, thinking about hot baths he would enjoy as soon as he was free.

When the fall came, he wasn’t ready for it. He hadn’t shared dreams with the girl for months – their last dream meeting was so uncomfortable he did not like to even think about it and so many things had changed since then. Squinting, Jaime looked around, recognizing the gardens of the Red Keep.

She was sitting on the top of a stone wall, gazing down into the depths below where the ocean murmured softly. Jaime blinked before taking a deep breath and approaching.

It never occurred to him but Sansa Stark was only thirteen. She was the same age as Myrcella, still a child in body and mind in the waking world, and he was faced tonight with the appearance of her thirteen-year-old self again.

She turned to him and Jaime gasped at the raw pain and despair in his soulmate’s expression. Her eyes, her soul, were much older and carried the weight of the world tonight.

“It has been a long time,” she whispered. “I hoped to never see you again, at least not here.”

Jaime clenched his jaw. Knowing that he did not want to visit and hearing her express the same wish were two entirely different things. How could she say it? They had been visiting each other since their births. The dreams had been comforting when the outside world had turned ugly. Had he really been foolish enough to want it to stop?

“I almost cut your brother in half,” he said sharply in retaliation and immediately regretted his harsh words. He did not want to cause her any more pain, hadn’t he done it enough already? He had crippled her father, pushed her brother out of a window. If only she knew… She would surely hate him as much as he sometimes hated himself. 

“I had to settle for his personal guards instead.” Jaime wasn’t comfortable with the idea of seeing hatred in her eyes and was glad that she wasn’t privy to _all_ his sins against her. “Got almost a whole dozen before they got me.”

“Robb captured you?” Sansa’s eyes widened slightly and she sat up straighter. Then she flicked her gaze down Jaime’s body and frowned in concern. “Are you… well?”

Did she see the bruises, the cuts, his torn clothes? He looked down at himself and grimaced. It would seem so. Why their dreams now reflected the true state of things from the outside? It had never been so before. Was it because they had met in reality? Had they somehow grounded themselves in the present now?

“I am.” He clasped his hands behind his back and shifted his weight, he had no idea what to say to her. They were now officially enemies, yet he wanted to offer her some measure of comfort, he wanted to ease her suffering. She must be frightened all alone among strangers and with her father injured and in prison. That wasn’t something he wanted for the girl who shared half of his soul, even if her name was Stark.

“I’m sure they’ll propose a trade soon,” Jaime said and smiled encouragingly.

“Robb would want that. He would want us back.” Sansa nodded and hopped down from the wall. She approached him slowly and then gingerly reached out to touch his cheek, but she did not touch the blooming bruise there, stopping at last moment and retracting her hand. “I’m sorry about that. I hope you’ll heal quickly, my lord.”

Jaime was surprised that he wished she hadn’t stopped, he wanted to feel her fingertips on his cheek, remembering how her touch had used to soothe and calm him once upon a time. Jaime nodded and bowed instead – he was well aware that it had been his choices that had ruined everything. He could hear voices and he knew that he would wake up soon. “Be strong, my lady. The worst will be over soon.”

Then he woke up with a gasp, his stomach in knots. Jaime glared at the guard who had awaken him and sat up straighter, the chains digging into his wrists painfully. He had had enough presence of mind to smudge dirt on the mark before they had chained him like an animal and was glad for it. The shame of breaking his bond was so acute, so personal, that he couldn’t imagine sharing it with anyone, let alone with the family of the one he had so wronged, hurt so much. Not to mention how he couldn’t have possibly explained why he had rejected his soulmate. They would have demanded to know why he had put the girl through the seven hells, and he didn’t have a believable answer. Telling the truth was out of the question, of course.

Turning to look toward the east, he watched the first pale traces of dawn on the horizon. Was Sansa waking up, too? Was she perhaps gazing at the rising sun just like him? It was strangely comforting to think so. Jaime liked the idea that they could share at least something this small in the real world – not only the hatred of their families’ feud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Jaime *shakes her head* Sure it will be over soon and your beloved sister will get you out of that cage. Sure, sure… Did he push Bran out of the window? Yes. Did he attack Ned and demanded Tyrion’s return? Of course. Why? It’s Jaime and he never thinks before he acts and if he is thinking, it’s usually with his, ehm, sword. Right, Cersei? Jaime, try using that thing on your shoulders sometimes, it will be loads better for you *winks*  
> I somehow feel like I should apologize for that canon divergence tag. While this fic diverges from the original plots and timelines, I always try to weave my way through some canon events unless it’s a modern piece. It’s more challenging for me that way and more fun. I’m sorry that some of you guys seem unhappy with the way the story’s progressing. I can’t promise it will get better because this whole thing is already evilly plotted and outlined and I’m happy with the results *sighs*  
> I’ve also got some news to share. I had a date with my doc and he was sort of not happy about how my right hand was doing and there’s an inflammation in it. I’ve been wearing a brace for the last week, have two more to go, and typing is not only uncomfortable but downright painful, so the next update might be delayed. Thanks for understanding.  
> Lots of love, as usual, Mage :)


	5. Part V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little wolf looks deep within. What does she find there?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope my replies to comments did not offend *winks* and let’s have a look at things from Sansa’s side again :)

King’s Landing, 298 AC

There wasn’t anything golden about the Lions. Sansa stared morosely down at the water as she wept silently, sitting on the top of a stone wall. They weren’t noble, they weren’t brave and they certainly weren’t just. Her father’s head was mounted on a spike on the young king’s orders and Sansa wished desperately that she had pushed the boy to his death. She should have done it and welcomed her own demise with open arms. She should have been a wolf and shown _her_ teeth and claws.

She should not feel anything for the murdering, lying betrayers.

His voice and his eyes and his smile should leave her feeling only cold hatred. Yet it wasn’t so. Damn her to all seven hells, it wasn’t so and Sansa wished with all her heart to be able to cut off her left hand and never see the mark again, never think about the other half of her soul – and if Ser Jaime ever crossed her mind, to think of him with disdain and nothing more.

She wondered if she shouldn’t just jump down to the depths below. But no, she couldn’t do that. Jaime’s parting words were ironically one of the reasons she could never jump.

“Be strong.” She repeated them loudly and in her mind, his voice echoed them. Sansa could do that, she would be strong and she would survive. Not for the man who did not want her, who wanted a lying, cheating murderess and sired a monster with that woman. No, Sansa would do it for herself because she owed it to her family, to her father. Her father had wanted her to live – he had wanted her to be _safe_ … And Sansa should have listened to him, she should have forgotten about her stupid childish fantasy of loving a golden-haired prince.

Those stupid dreams were to blame. Jaime was to blame and Joffrey and Sansa’s naivety. How could she have been so foolish? Hadn’t she learned anything from her dream travels? Never trust a Lannister – a pretty face and sweet smiles masked a heart rotted to the core.

Weary and with an aching head, Sansa slipped from the stone wall and went to rest under the trees and into the shade with her ever-present guards silently watching her every move. She wondered if the queen’s men would have tried to catch her but she doubted it.

Closing her eyes only briefly, only for a moment, she found herself falling. Curiously looking around, she was surprised that he dreamt of a sunlit meadow – but where was he? Turning in circles, it took a moment to locate his figure resting in the high grass among wildflowers. 

Sansa involuntarily gasped at his appearance and took a step closer, already cursing her foolish heart. He rested on his back with heavy irons cutting into his neck, wrists, and ankles.

Jaime looked worse than the last time. His hair was matted and caked with mud, the color unrecognizable, his cheeks were covered in short stubble, and that once handsome face was dirty and bore traces of abuse – there was a bleeding cut on his forehead and the blood covered traces of other injuries.

Was this how he looked in the waking world? Sansa swallowed and blinked back tears, already knowing her answer when she glanced down at herself and the gown she wore that day.

“My lord?” She knelt carefully next to him, biting her lower lip. “Can you hear me?”

It took him a moment to open his eyes and she thought he struggled to focus on her.

“Am I dreaming, then?” he asked in wonder and Sansa desperately wanted to know what Jaime had done to warrant such a treatment. Her brother would never treat a highborn prisoner like this, or would he?

“What happened to you?” she whispered and searched for her embroidered handkerchief. Hesitating only momentarily – would he shy away from her touch as usual? – she moistened it with her saliva and then started to carefully dab at the cut.

“I provoked your brother and mother… and their men.” Jaime sighed and his eyes drifted shut. Then he focused back on her, the look in those green depths reflecting her own misery, her own pain, and sorrow, and Sansa’s heart ached. “I do not deserve your kindness, my lady.”

“That’s for me to decide.” He was, despite everything, the man who had half of her soul. She could wish to hate him but she knew it was impossible. She had loved him too much for that, however foolish that was, however hopeless and futile that feeling was. She had been born to love him.

“You need to stop wearing your heart on your sleeve or it will get you killed.”

“As it did my father?” she asked, voice trembling, and she stopped her ministrations. Her poor honest father, who had been injured in a fight with Ser Jaime and then beheaded like a common criminal by Jaime’s monstrous son.

Jaime shifted abruptly and struggled to sit up. He caught her hand in his, eyes shining with regret as he gave her hand a slight squeeze. It was the first time after so long that he was the one initiating contact between them and Sansa was shocked at the wave of comfort it brought her. She didn’t _want_ him to bring her comfort, yet her soul yearned for his touch.

_ “Yes.” _ Jaime emphasized the word with another tight squeeze and held her hand a moment longer before he looked to the side, his expression darkening, his next words bleak, “Your brother’s pet is coming.”

Turning his gaze back to her, his eyes flicked over her face, softening again. “Promise me to be careful.”

Sansa nodded and then she was suddenly falling and falling and when she woke up, she was lying in the shade in King’s Landing, not in a blooming meadow, and she was alone. Glancing at her left wrist, where hidden under one of her bracelets and masked with a skin-colored paste was her mark, she smiled to herself for the first time in ages. Perhaps there was one Lannister she could trust at least slightly.

Looking around the beautiful garden above the sea, she nodded to herself. She would survive this because she was a Stark of Winterfell – not a little dove, not a pretty bird but a wolf. Whatever it took.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what’s a lone wolf supposed to do in a lion’s den? Play her part. I have to say I disliked young Sansa right until Ned’s head was chopped off. That was a hard lesson our girl did not deserve but it served its purpose and she grew her claws and showed her teeth. I still remember the exact moment when I started to like her. It was when she looked at the prince and said that Robb might give her Joff’s head instead *grins*  
> Hope you had fun, love, Mage :)


	6. Part VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Jaime sits in his cage, he has lots of opportunities to appreciate his soulmate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *places a box of tissues on the table and wanders away*

Oxcross, 299 AC

The days bled into weeks and weeks turned into months. Jaime had stopped counting – life as a war prisoner in the hands of northern barbarians was dull and uneventful. Riling up his captors had soon lost its appeal – their responses were as boring as watching mud dry.

His uncle Stafford was dead, Jaime had discovered not soon after the battle, and he did not know how to feel about that. His mother’s brother had been only a distant memory from his childhood, they had not been close, but the man was family nonetheless.

Jaime hated seeing his homeland scarred by war and he hated his helplessness to do anything about it, about the blood of his men and family being spilled. Jaime was a man of action and sitting chained to a pole all day and night would have slowly driven him mad if not for _her_.

Those dreams had proven to be a source of comfort he had never imagined they could be, not since reaching adulthood. They were not as frequent as he would like, and sometimes they lasted only a few moments, but Jaime welcomed them. It distracted him from the mundane existence he led, it let him know that all those he loved in King’s Landing were alive and safe and… well, _she_ wasn’t happy, but she was alive and safe from the horrors of war at least… And he did not love her, not truly in the way Sansa deserved, but Jaime cared for her. How could he not? How could he not feel her pain and desolation when his own soul looked back at him from her blue eyes? 

He never dared to ask about Cersei but Sansa understood his unspoken pleas and she would comment offhandedly what the queen did that day or say how beautiful Cersei looked in her new gowns.

Jaime lived for those scraps of information about his sister, even though he knew that it tore the little lady apart. He couldn’t command his heart whom to love – if he could, Jaime was almost certain that he would want to love his soulmate who showed him nothing but kindness and sympathy, whose love he detected lurking in the old, old eyes of her soul.

He hoped that the stories were true, that one day when this life would be over, he could meet her under different circumstances as a different man – a man worthy of such devotion and purity. Alas, he was just Jaime in this life and he would carry the weight of his sins without complaint. If only she didn’t suffer because of his choices…

Sansa was on his mind almost as much as his twin and while he yearned for Cersei, Jaime worried for the Stark girl. She was growing up. Her old soul’s eyes did not look so out of place in her face anymore, Sansa’s clothes were ill-fitting and she looked thin and pale. Jaime knew how neglect looked like and he wondered why Cersei didn’t do something about the clothes at least. They were in the capital, for gods’ sake. They had enough food and were not marching through war-torn lands. Sansa wasn’t him, she was not deliberately riling up her captors, she was not giving them any excuse to abuse her.

It did not make sense to him – why treat a girl like this? Not for the first time, wished to be free so he could make sure that Sansa was treated right.

He snorted. Maybe he had gone already mad when the greatest reason why he wished to be free was the wellbeing of one little lady and not the war efforts. He was just uncomfortable thinking about the girl being mistreated.

The night slowly crept in and he tried to find the least uncomfortable position against the pole, wondering and hoping that maybe he would be seeing Sansa tonight. It had been so long. Then his wish was granted and Jaime fell, his heart thundering in his chest in excitement.

As soon as he got his bearings, he desperately wanted to wake up. It wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare and he couldn’t believe his eyes at first.

They were in the throne room and she was kneeling, almost naked, bleeding, and beaten on the floor. Her sobs tore at him and Jaime’s heart clenched and he fisted his hands at the sight, striding to her quickly. The irons around his wrists and ankles rattled as he knelt next to her and touched her shoulder.

“My lady?” He had to force the words out, wishing to have the right to use her name. _Sansa_. How would it taste on his tongue? Gods, he knew her as no one else ever could – he knew her as a young child, as a woman in the full bloom of her beauty and as an old lady close to the grave. He had met every possible version of her – who she had been, who she was, and who she would be if the gods granted her a long life. If Jaime did not have the right to use her name, who else in this world did?

“Don’t.” She shuddered and jerked away from his touch. Jaime sat back on his heels, stung by the rejection. She didn’t want him to touch her? It hurt inexplicably and he focused on the welts instead of thinking about his reaction. They came from a flat of a sword. A knight had done this? It was unacceptable.

“Who did this?” Jaime asked, his voice cracking as he trembled in rage. He would find them and he would relieve them of their hands for the audacity to raise them against the little lady.

Sansa shook as she cried in pain and shock and Jaime wanted to… Swallowing, he suppressed the urge to take her in his arms. She didn’t want him to touch her, not tonight, and he would respect that.

“Tell me, please,” he pleaded softly, hating the helplessness. “Tell me who hurt you.”

“Your son.” She spat the words out and Jaime felt as if he had been just punched into the face. He doubted that Joffrey would dare to strike a woman himself, but there were others in the court that would be only too happy to obey any order from the king.

What was Cersei thinking, letting that boy run rampant still? As if Joffrey hadn’t done enough already! Taking Ned Stark’s head had been bad enough, abusing the only hostage the Crown had was only adding fuel to the flames of war.

Sansa partially turned her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed, tears staining her cheeks. The anguish cut through him, sharper than any blade, and he understood why she did not want him to touch her, to be near her. Jaime was responsible for that, for her pain and suffering.

“Leave me alone, please. Just go.” He then watched her as she pinched her inner forearm. Before he could stop her, the dream around them shattered and he woke up, struggling to breathe in his cage, chained helplessly to the pole, sitting in the dirt and hundreds of miles away from the only place where he needed to be.

Biting his tongue until he drew blood, Jaime closed his eyes and tried to control his rage. He wouldn’t allow the cruelty, couldn’t bear it. When the morning came, his sharp eyes watched the guards closely, assessing, searching for any weaknesses he could exploit.

The Young Lion had to make sure that the other half of his soul wouldn’t be harmed any further. At any cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> … and then poor cousin Alton was shoved into Jaime’s cage and we know how well all that turned out, right? Well, Jaime is finally starting to pull his head out of his ass at least but it’s a slow process. Sitting in his own waste and starving hugely improves his thinking capacity, obviously *chuckles mirthlessly*  
> Anyway, the brace is off and it’s a huge relief but I can’t even write my name without dropping the pen. The doctor suggested I should pick up coloring or drawing or something similar when I’m further into the physical therapy to improve dexterity and strengthen the muscles. Me thinks that typing will also help because I’ve got tons of stories needing an update *winks* Coming in a day or two is the final chapter of ‘Patient Love’ *grins*  
> Lots of love, Mage : )


	7. Part VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little wolf finds comfort in her dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No tissues required today *winks*

King’s Landing, 299 AC

Holding her doll still in her hands, Sansa wished for many things. She wished for her remaining family to be safe most of all. She didn’t have to see them ever again – she probably wouldn’t, anyway – but she wished them safe and happy. She would gladly trade her life for theirs, even for Arya’s.

She wished she had gone with the Hound to them, but at the same time, Sansa knew that she wouldn’t have lasted on the journey more than a day. She did not feel completely safe with him even though she knew that the Hound would never hurt her, that he would do his best to protect her. Her chances were better here, in the viper’s nest. In this place, she had adapted, she knew how to navigate its murky waters.

She wished for Stannis Baratheon to win and put Cersei’s and Joffrey’s heads on a spike. Yes, that’s what she really wished – a true, fearless, and just Stag to sit the throne. Maybe then the new king would return her to Robb – where Jaime currently was – and Robb and the remaining Lannisters would bend the knee and everything would be… not _alright_ , but better than this.

What fanciful thoughts. Sansa liked to think that she wasn’t a stupid child any longer and the picture-perfect solution couldn’t really ever be. The hatred ran too deep.

Her brows furrowed as she contemplated all the reasons why she despised the queen mother and her disgusting son… No, it was also Jaime’s son and she should not forget that. The Lannisters had given her plenty of reasons to hate them and just thinking about them made her weary and fearful and wishing that she was more like her sister, like Arya. Arya would have tried to murder them in their sleep, she would have been braver and fought them. But Sansa had promised to be careful, and she wanted to live and she knew that her strength was in her courtesies and the façade of an empty-headed girl.

That’s what Jaime wanted from her, to be careful and last long enough. He had promised in return to come for her, to keep her safe. Sansa knew that with Jaime, she would feel safe – maybe she wouldn’t be, but she trusted him to do his best. There were days she doubted that he would come, though, because her brother wasn’t a fool. Jaime hadn’t managed to escape yet and Sansa wasn’t convinced that he could. Robb knew that having the Kingslayer in his grasp was important.

In those days, the only other Lannister left to help her was the Imp and Sansa desperately wished to be able to return some of Lord Tyrion’s kindness… But she was too scared. She didn’t know Jaime’s brother well and she was not going to trust any of his siblings, never repeat with Tyrion the mistake Sansa had made with Cersei.

Putting the doll away, she went to her bed. There was no point in hiding and she wouldn’t be a scared mouse trembling under furniture. Sleep didn’t come for a long time, but eventually, she fell.

It was hot in his dream but she knew he liked to dream of warmth to escape the coldness of his cage. Jaime was basking in the sunlight, sitting on a crimson blanket so close to the ocean that its waves licked the feet of his outstretched legs.

She wasn’t surprised to see Jaime’s haggard appearance and the irons and the injuries, not any longer. He had been held in Robb’s captivity for long months – was it almost a year? – and his attempts to escape had only brought him more of the abuse. His jaw was swollen, long hair caked with a mix of mud and his own blood.

He mustered a small smile upon seeing her and moved to the side, patting the space on his blanket next to him. “You look like you could use a day out on the beach, too.”

“Is this your home?” Sansa sat down next to him and Jaime moved his right arm slightly so his forearm rested against her lower back lightly.

“Yes. You can’t see Casterly Rock from here, but it’s up on the cliff behind us. We used to come here to play when we were children. Father taught me how to swim in these waters and I taught Tyrion.” Jaime’s voice was affectionate and Sansa watched his profile for a moment after he fell silent. They were his family and he loved his father and siblings just like Sansa loved hers. It was such a pity that they were enemies because she believed that she and Jaime had this love for their families in common… but of course, they were two halves of one whole, they were much alike in many things.

“I remember how proud I was to be the future lord of this place as a boy. Casterly Rock is magnificent. I wish you could see it.” He sighed and Sansa well remembered the boy with a brilliant smile and sparkling eyes, a little lion cub untouched by the ugliness of the world. His voice flattened as he continued, “Then Aerys named me into the Kingsguard and the rest is history.”

“Stannis is attacking the capital as we speak,” she said after a few moments. Jaime needed to know, he needed to prepare himself for the outcome. “Tyrion leads the city defense, and Joffrey is out there, too. The queen regent was with the other ladies before I ran back to my room. They had Ser Ilyn with them.”

She watched the relaxed, almost content expression slip from his face and his jaw clenched, eyes darkening. He turned to look at her and inclined his head.

“Thank you for telling me.”

“I can’t say I wish them to be safe.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry I can’t say that.”

Jaime then smiled and she saw the same wistfulness she felt in his eyes. He raised his hand, the irons rattling, and he reached out to touch her but he stopped the movement before his fingertips could graze her cheek. “So am I.”

Sansa swallowed and turned away from him, hiding her face and the tears stinging her eyes. She hated how easily tears seemed to flow in his presence. In another life, under different circumstances, she could imagine that having his love would be quite exquisite.

“I don’t want to wake up,” she whispered.

“Then don’t.” Jaime shrugged and Sansa longed to lean her head against his shoulder and wanted him to wrap his arm around her back more securely. She didn’t and he didn’t and they watched the ocean until the dream ended and Sansa woke up to a city under the Great Lion’s rule.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *claps her hand in excitement* I finally managed to smuggle Ty into this story as well! *grins*  
> It honestly baffles me why the heck Sansa didn’t go with the Hound if all she wanted was to get back home. Maybe I just don’t remember her show reasons but hoping that her soulmate would finally man up and protect her – he promised, didn’t he? – seemed like a plausible option. Ah, well, she at least stopped being so damned trusting. Baby steps, Sansa, it’s always baby steps with you and Jaime *chuckles*  
> Love, Mage :)


	8. Part VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime is humbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *carefully builds a fortress of paper tissues*  
> The following chapter is rough, I’m sorry.  
> *goes into hiding*

Riverlands, 300 AC

He had betrayed many vows in the course of his life but there was one promise that Jaime had refused to break. It wasn’t his vow to Lady Catelyn to bring her back her daughter. It wasn’t any obligation he had as a Kingsguard. It was a promise to the little lady that he would come for her and keep her safe.

Where else should he go? In King’s Landing was his soul – and he had left his heart there, too. After months of trying and unsuccessful attempts to escape, he had been unexpectedly freed by the woman who he had mocked relentlessly.

The moment had humbled him beyond belief. The same fierce loyalty that made his soulmate so remarkable ran through the veins of Lady Stark and Jaime felt like he had never before understood what love was, how felt sacrifice and how tasted despair.

It was a damned pity that Jaime and Brienne had been captured by those men. They wore the Bolton sigil and were determined to bring them to their lord… And Jaime did his best to annoy all seven hells out of them.

As he was held down by those brutes against a tree stump with a blade pressed so close to his eye, he remembered Sansa’s words from some time ago, “You shouldn’t try to provoke them so often. One of these days, the Northmen will snap.”

His little lady was far from stupid. Jaime actually believed that the other of his soul had been right – she had grown up among those barbarians, after all.

“Have you got something to say?” asked his captor and Jaime wisely decided to follow Sansa’s advice and not provoking them further. His jaw clenched as he had to bite back the retort begging to be said.

“Careful… You don’t want to say the wrong thing,” mocked Locke and stopped pressing the dagger to Jaime’s eye. He heard him walk around and felt the man’s eyes roam over his back. Jaime was dressed in rags, dirty and bound and malnourished, but he was far from broken, his instincts of a warrior were intact and he felt danger literally breathing down his neck.

The men had to loosen his bindings to pull his arms wider and slammed him against the tree stump forcefully. Jaime hissed and kept his mouth shut. If he got himself killed, he would hardly be of any help to Sansa and he would never see his beloved Cersei.

“You’re nothing without your daddy, and your daddy ain’t here… What’s this?”

Jaime clenched his jaw as he watched Locke move the shackle on his left wrist to the side, revealing the soulmark. The pattern was barely visible under layers of grime but it was unmistakable what it was. Jaime had not been able to see it properly since he had been captured; the chains had never allowed him much room for movement. He stared at the mark for a second and then he looked up into Locke’s face.

“Well, well, well, so the Kingslayer is hiding a sweet little secret, ain’t he?” The chuckle sent shivers down Jaime’s spine. “Have you ever got something taken from you, hmm?”

Jaime felt his unease rise. He didn’t like the way Locke was looking down at his mark, and a sense of foreboding made his heart double its rate. For a second, he bit the inside of his cheek to keep silent but the proud lion inside him roared. They had no bloody right to even _look_ at his mark. It was his and it was private.

“No one ever dared.”

“No? Well.” Locke grinned and with a quick strike, he cut off Jaime’s left hand exactly where the mark was. “There’s a first time for everything.”

For a moment, Jaime stared at his severed hand before he screamed in horror. They had just cut off his hand but the pain hadn’t even registered. It was the crushing knowledge that _the mark_ was destroyed, that they had taken _her_ away from him. She was gone. Sansa was gone!

He had broken the bond so many years ago but losing the mark… It was unthinkable, devastating. It had been an irreplaceable part of him, the only proof of his connection to Sansa, the only thing that had made it possible to claim that the little lady belonged to him.

Jaime continued to scream and jumped to his feet as an unforeseen wave of strength rose in him. He tugged at his chains and men holding them fell down. Not wasting a moment longer, fueled by despair and fury and hopelessness at her loss, he roared again and tackled Locke to the ground.

His blood flew into Locke’s face, blinding him, and Jaime grabbed the dagger and slit his throat. Then he jumped up again, now armed. The shackle slid from his arm to the ground, effectively freeing his right arm to use it effectively. Pressing the stump to his chest to slow his bleeding, Jaime attacked the nearest man, stabbing him in the heart. He threw the dagger to Brienne who had struggled to her feet and seized the sword at the man’s waist before the body fell to the ground.

“Anyone else? Anyone else wants to die tonight?!” he screamed. There was no answer and half-mad with rage and loss, Jaime proceeded to cut down those bastards who dared to take Sansa away from him.

There was no grace in his movements, and there was no mercy. In a matter of moments, the camp was clear of any Bolton men and Jaime slid to his knees in the middle of the massacre.

“Ser Jaime!” cried Brienne – now with a sword of her own and covered with the blood of her victories – and ran toward him. “By the gods, we need to staunch the bleeding…”

Jaime wasn’t listening, though. His mind had already turned inward as he was slipping into unconsciousness, wishing desperately for the familiar feeling of freefall to assault him, to hear her voice one last time, to see those eyes only for a moment. He had been blind, he hadn’t understood even as a grown man. Oh, gods, his soul! Who was going to save his soul, now?

Then, the darkness swallowed him completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to do that, I just really, really had to. Losing his hand felt like a pivotal moment for Jaime in the show and it was important for my plot as well. I still feel a little bad about it, though *sighs*  
> I’m honestly not sure how many men there were, but I think it wasn’t a high number. Now, we know that Jaime is a prodigy and he cut with ease through Robb’s guards who were heavily armored for battle and probably the best warriors of the North considering they were the ones defending their king. Disposing of men dressed lightly for travel that are most probably hunters like Locke seems possible, especially when Jaime still has his sword arm and Brienne has his back.  
> Love, Mage :)


	9. Part IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa realizes a thing or two.

King’s Landing, 300 AC

King’s Landing was a different place and the change for the better had been so sudden she could hardly believe it. Lord Lannister and the Tyrells had brought food and order to the city, but Sansa was selfishly glad for their presence for a different reason. Her most dreaded nightmare had ended with their arrival – she was no longer betrothed to that monster and Joffrey had been way too distracted by the charms of Lady Margaery to pay too much attention to her or to his ‘ruling.’ These days, it was more probable to see the Lord Hand sitting on the throne than the king – and if Joffrey was not there, he didn’t play his games with Sansa. That meant no more public humiliation and beatings. The queen mother also paid less attention to Sansa with her father and a new future queen at the court. Their ever helpful ‘lessons’ at being a ‘woman’ had almost stopped altogether and if the little wolf was careful enough, she managed to go whole _days_ without seeing either of her tormentors.

Sansa wasn’t sure if she was more grateful to Lord Lannister for simply being there, or to the Tyrells for offering her a way out. Eventually, she settled for the Tyrells as she finally understood their game – she had been encouraged to spend time with Ser Loras and she had grabbed the opportunity with both hands.

Sansa tried not to feel guilty about enjoying the presence of a handsome young man but ultimately failed every time she shared dreams with Jaime. Her soulmate had been on his way back, slowly but steadily cutting the distance between them with each passing day and Sansa’s stupid heart fluttered in excitement every time she thought about setting her eyes on him in real life.

It had been so long. Would it feel like their dreams? Or would it be completely different?

She knew, of course, that it was foolish of her to look forward to his presence. Ser Jaime had promised to keep her safe but she knew that he was returning to the queen whom he loved – not to her. However, that didn’t stop Sansa from deriving a little bit of pleasure from the fact that she knew about Jaime’s whereabouts whereas the queen mother did not. If it was petty and unladylike, so be it. It wasn’t like Queen Cersei seemed stricken by her twin’s absence,

The match with Loras was certainly a better option than running off with Baelish, Sansa thought. There was something about the man’s eyes that made her uneasy – as if she had known him, once upon a time in a different life, perhaps. She didn’t trust him and she definitely didn’t want to be anywhere near him, let alone at his mercy.

Sighing, she decided to tell Jaime about her upcoming betrothal at the earliest opportunity. He would be surely willing to support the match and Sansa knew that the sway Jaime had over his family was the key to successfully get out of the sphere of any Lannister influence.

Since Lord Tywin had arrived, the lions were everywhere and controlled everything. It had made her realize how futile her situation was. Jaime was not going to be her savior. He could protect her, she didn’t doubt that, but it wasn’t _enough_. She was still only a bird with its wings clipped, she would still wither and die in the shadow of the queen like a flower without sunlight.

Sansa wanted to live – she was tired of surviving – and the only one who could save her was herself. She longed to find whatever measure of comfort she could, and not linger at the edge of someone else’s happiness… even if that someone was the other half of her soul. She wished for Jaime to be happy, of course, she did – Sansa just couldn’t bear to see him happy with one of the cruelest persons she had ever met.

Her eyes closed and she fell, abruptly and unpleasantly, coming to her senses in utter darkness.

Sansa swallowed her fear as she gazed around in the blackness. Why was Jaime dreaming of something this desolate and cold? Something so terrible? His dreams were usually more pleasant, an escape.

“Are you here?” she called out, uncertain, uncomfortable. She had a bad feeling about this.

There were a gasp and a shuffling noise and then his voice – hoarse and weak and _broken_ – whispered, “Sansa?”

A shock ran through her body at him saying her name for the first time in this life. It was as if she had been struck by lightning and she shivered and closed her eyes, her knees weak. Placing her hand over her furiously beating heart, she whispered, “Jaime?”

A wave of emotions passed through her – his name tasted sweet on her tongue, and so _right_ that she wondered why she had been afraid to say it at all. As soon as he heard it, a desperate sob escaped her soulmate and something grabbed at her calf clumsily in the darkness. She yelped but she recognized the warmth of his hand and reached down to return the anxious touch.

“Why is it so dark in here, Jaime?” she asked softly and lowered herself down at his urging. Then, to her utter surprise, she felt his arms sneaking around her waist and he moved her to sit in his lap, enveloping her in his presence. Jaime was trembling as he buried his face into the crook of Sansa’s neck.

“They took you,” he muttered, over and over again. “They took you. They took you. They took you.”

Sansa didn’t understand what was going on. Why did she feel him crying hot tears that soaked the shoulder strap of her nightgown? Why he held her so forcefully it was becoming hard to breathe?

As she struggled to loosen his embrace, Jaime held even tighter, shaking his head. “No, no, don’t leave me.”

“Shh, shh, it’s alright. I’m here. They didn't take me, see? I’m not going anywhere.” Blindly, she reached down to cradle his hands in hers and then froze. His left arm ended in a stump. There was nothing where his hand was supposed to be. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, the shock of it too much to contemplate. How devastating, how horrifying – taking something so vital from a prideful man like him. Who had dared to do that? Hadn’t they known who Jaime was? How terrible a retaliation from a Lannister was going to be?

“But they did!” He shook his head, his voice was raw. “They took it away, my mark. It was all I had of you, don’t you see? I was so afraid that you went with it, that you were gone!”

Sansa’s heart ached at the thought. His hand had been cut off and Jaime’s greatest worry was that she would be gone from his dreams? Oh, the poor man! Sansa bit her lip to stop her own tears and placed her hand over his momentarily. Then she renewed her struggle anew and managed to turn around in his hold, gently wrapping her arms around his neck. At least he irons were finally gone.

“Gods know that it will take much more than _that_ to force me to abandon you. I cannot, Jaime Lannister. I wish I could but the truth is, I simply cannot and I never will. Despite everything that lies between us, I’ll be with you here until my last day and beyond.”

Jaime keened, his shoulders shaking, and Sansa held him with the same amount of desperation he exhibited. Ser Loras or any other man would never compare, never have such an effect on her, never touch her heart as the other half of her soul could with a single word, a single look. If only they could find this comfort and closeness in the real world, too, Sansa knew they would have been blissfully perfect together.

Jaime was burning up, she realized only moments later. Wherever his body was resting, it was struggling with fever and infection. The only thing she could do was to offer her unconditional love and comfort in their dreams – not in the waking world, never there. These dreams were the only place where she could love him freely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *claps her hands in excitement*  
> It’s official! From now on, we are slowly starting to truly diverge from canon! Yay! What do you think about Sansa stopping to be a stupid dreamer and plotting her escape as best as she can? I’m proud of our little wolf.  
> That’s what happens when you don’t man up in time, dear Jaime. Girls like Sansa are not going to wait for you forever, even if that poor dear loves you to the point of stupidity.  
> Lots of love, Mage :)


	10. Part X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wayward lion finds his way home – or does he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people never learn. Some are slow learners. It’s time to wake up *grins*

King’s Landing, 300 AC

Still feverish but no longer delirious, Jaime rode through the city gates with Brienne hovering close by in case he fell off his horse again. He wanted to dislike the giant warrior woman but he had no doubt that her skills had saved his life.

After the slaughter of the Bolton men, they had put their differences aside and continued toward King’s Landing as allies. Brienne had earned his grudging respect with her proficiency with a blade and as the weeks passed, a fledgling friendship had started to develop between them.

He hated her sympathetic, understanding looks, though. He was also grateful that she had not asked any questions about his mark or the reason why they simply could not delay their journey not even for a day.

Jaime needed to hurry. He felt it in every inch of his soul and he couldn’t rationally explain it. Maybe it had been the fear of losing the little lady that had fueled the determination, or workings of a higher force, he wasn’t sure. The knight just knew that he had to return to King’s Landing as soon as possible and the warrior lady was willing to help him. For that alone he was grateful.

Brienne had also been kind enough to tie him to the horse at his insistence, so he would stop falling off of it when he had been ill. That had earned her more of Jaime’s friendship than he was ever comfortable admitting.

It was a frightening thought that someone understood the burning thing inside of him but Jaime returned her courtesy and never asked why Brienne covered her own left wrist with a wide leather band. He knew that a mark did not guarantee a happy ending, that it could bring misery instead of bliss.

“Are you ready to see her?” she asked him, carefully not looking his way. They had never outright broached the subject of his mark and mutilation. If Brienne suspected his soulmate was the girl they had sworn to return to Lady Stark, he doubted they would remain friends for long. If she believed that his soulmate was his sister – the rumors about them were well known now – he applauded Brienne’s decision not to comment.

Jaime inhaled sharply and glared at her. “What are you talking about?”

“Are you ready? Will you…” Brienne trailed off. She didn’t have to continue. The last time Jaime had been in King’s Landing, in the presence of his family and the court, he had been a whole man, a feared swordsman. Now, he couldn’t say the same. While he was still deadly with a sword, he had lost some of his essence in the last two years… He certainly wasn’t whole, not any longer, and he couldn’t say even that he was the same man who had brawled in these streets with Ned Stark so long, long ago.

“It’s fine.” He didn’t want to fight with Brienne now. He didn’t want to lose their fragile friendship just yet – but he knew it was necessary. Jaime was going betray her trust quite soon, break yet another oath. It was a pity. Brienne was a great warrior and an honorable person – everything he wasn’t – and more than that. She was a good friend.

Clenching his only hand in a fist, Jaime considered what to do first. Food and a hot bath and clean clothes sounded divine but he could hardly wait any longer. There were people he needed to see. His heart had been beating irregularly for the last three miles and he knew where his steps would lead him now.

To the palace. He just wasn’t sure if he should visit his heart or his soul first. It was almost impossible decision and Jaime considered just flipping a coin. He had yearned to lay his eyes on Cersei for the last two years. He wanted to touch her and kiss her and love her as he had done so many times before, there was no doubt about that. Or was there?

It did not feel _right_ anymore to rush to her side while his soul was quietly waiting to be acknowledged in the shadows that Cersei cast. He owned Sansa much more and Jaime was a better man than he had been before… At least he liked to think so. The scare with the mark had opened his eyes to the fact that the little lady was _irreplaceable_ to him, that he could not bear the thought of being left without her soothing presence.

How different it would be in the real world? Jaime liked to think that their closeness would grow only stronger now that he no longer tried to deny their link. It would ultimately lead to some changes around the keep for sure. Joffrey was going to need a new Kingsguard or two, for example.

Undecided, he moved toward the keep. Was he going to see his heart or his soul first?

Sansa knew that he was coming, that he was close, and that he was as well as could be expected after his most recent injury. Cersei, on the other hand, hadn’t heard from him for months. His sister must be beside herself with worry. So his heart it was, Jaime decided with a sigh and didn’t understand why the decision didn’t sit right with him.

They reached the palace and after the expected hassle of proving his identity and scaring the daylights out of the guards, he sent Brienne off to eat, bath and change – not necessarily in that order – and followed his heart.

Jaime pushed the uneasiness away as he neared Cersei’s private chambers. He opened the door quietly and just observed her for a short moment. His heart remained beating regularly, but he smiled at the picture of beauty in front of him. She hadn’t changed at all, had she? His perfect, gorgeous twin, the woman he had killed and lied for.

“Cersei.”

He wished to say that he would forever cherish the following moments; the surprised gasp that escaped her, how quickly she turned with her eyes shining with hope. He wanted to picture it all in the coming years – the image of her rising to her feet and running to embrace him…

The moment Cersei turned and her eyes landed on his pitiful figure with a stump tied to his neck, she couldn’t mask her horror at what she was seeing. She was shocked, sickened by his maiming, and the smell he brought into her pristine chambers.

The look in Cersei’s eyes told him more than he wanted to know, more than he was ready to take in. Jaime realized that there wouldn’t be any embrace welcoming him to her side as she continued to sit, rooted to her spot utterly speechless. It felt as if his beating heart had been just ripped out of his chest and thrown into the dust at her feet and she stomped on it.

Jaime stood up straighter, his expression becoming unreadable. He offered her the opportunity to take a long hard look at him, at the man who had rushed to her side, ignoring his soul in favor of Cersei’s love. He couldn’t find any trace of anything resembling love in her, now. When he couldn’t stand her eyes on him any longer, he bowed mockingly. “I’ll see you later, then, sweet sister.”

He ignored her calling out his name, closing his eyes against the habitual pull he felt to return to her and marched down the corridor. He knew the keep better than most and it did not take him long to get lost in its passages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the kind of welcoming you expected, was it, Jaime? *shakes her head* Our boy is on his way, I promise you that *grins* The next few chapters will deal with the situation in King’s Landing and you can probably get rid of the tissues… for some time, at least *winks*  
> Love, Mage :)


	11. Part XI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s time to wake up and smell the (golden) roses...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gleefully clasps her hands together*

King’s Landing, 300 AC

Sansa didn’t know what alerted her. It wasn’t a sound, or even smell. It was just an awareness of him. She stopped embroidering and put her work down carefully before she glanced at the entrance of her room.

A gasp escaped her as soon as her eyes landed on the figure uncertainly standing there, shoulders slumped and exhaustion written in the lines of his face. He was clothed in rags, filthy, haggard, unshaven. His left arm was tied to his neck to keep the stump elevated. The smell of sickness clung to him strongly – as well as the smell of horses, manure, and unwashed bodies.

The eyes that looked at her were still the same brilliant shade of green.

“Oh, thank all the gods, Jaime!” Sansa swiftly rose to her feet and flew across the room. Before she could collide with him, she stopped, tears gathering in her eyes. She had grown up since the last time they had faced each other, and she could reach his shoulders without difficulty.

She gestured to him and asked timidly, “May I?”

Jaime closed his eyes and nodded, lifting his right arm in invitation.

“Sansa.” He heaved an exhausted sigh when she wrapped him in a tight embrace, feeling warmth tingle through her entire body at the contact. Weeks of worries – maybe years – melted away at the touch and Sansa couldn’t stop her own sigh at the rightness of the embrace. He felt like home, like the only place where she was supposed to be. Oh, how she wished to have the right to feel like this. The pleasure was stolen, fleeting.

“I am glad to see you whole,” she whispered with her face pressed to his chest, listening to the irregular beating of his heart. She had been afraid that their reunion would be awkward as their last real meetings had been, but she shouldn’t have worried. He was Jaime and she was Sansa and they _knew_ each other. He had been there for her in her darkest hours, as had she. There was no need for shyness or awkwardness between two halves of one soul.

The stump was right in front of her eyes and she frowned at it. It was covered in a dirty piece of cloth, it smelled terrible and she was almost sure that it needed to be cleaned and re-wrapped.

“Whole?” Jaime laughed shortly, humorlessly. “I’m far from whole, my dear.”

She stepped back and took his hand, bringing him to sit at the table. “Well, you still have your sword hand and a shield could be strapped to your other forearm. It’s not like your fighting skills will suffer. You are obviously underfed but that’s easily remedied. Are there any other issues you feel you need to address?”

Jaime gaped at her for a moment and then he barked out another short laughter, this time more relaxed. “Not for the time being.”

“Good. Now, I won’t ask if you had a maester have a look at your hand, it’s obvious you didn’t. Have you eaten?”

“Ah… I’ve just arrived.”

Sansa stopped pouring him a goblet of wine and put the jug down, concealing the tremor in her hands. She did not raise her eyes to meet his as she asked, “Do you need to go and see the queen, then?”

Jaime struggled for words for a moment and then he reached out and took Sansa’s hand in his. He gave it a firm squeeze and waited until she looked up into his face. In his eyes, the other half of her soul stared back at her, shy and timid and uncertain. Jaime shook his head. “This is where I need to be, now. I’m so very glad you haven’t given up on me, Sansa.”

As if she had any other option. Didn’t the silly man know yet that her devotion was as boundless as was her love for him? Long before Sansa had been born, she had loved him, and she knew with dreadful certainty that she would never stop even after her current life ended.

“I wish things were different,” he continued solemnly, his expression heartbreaking, sincere. “I want to be close to you. Would… would my friendship and protection and care be enough to repay you for all you’ve done for me? Our connection is precious to me, Sansa. If you’ll never believe another word from my mouth, believe that at least.”

Sansa hated how easily tears flowed from her eyes. She wanted to nod because their connection always had been precious to her, too – but her mind had been made up long before he had spoken the words that meant a world to her. She was a Stark of Winterfell, and they kept their words. She was a wolf who had to claw her way out of this viper’s nest.

He let go of her hand and gently wiped the tears away, smiling.

“Is that a yes, my lady?” Jaime teased and she had never before been at the receiving end of his playfulness like this – not in the waking world, at least. If only things could be different between them. Sansa was quite sure that she would never tire of seeing those amused sparks in his eyes.

“I appreciate your offer, Jaime, but I cannot live like this any longer, within these walls, and among people who…” Cradling his hand against her cheek, Sansa shook her head. “Do you wish me happiness?”

“Of course! I wish you all the possible happiness this world has to offer.” Apprehension entered his gaze now and Jaime withdrew from her and reached for the wine, frowning slightly. “How could you ask such a thing? You, of all people? Surely you know that I will do everything in my power to make your life better.”

Oh, Jaime, you dear man. Sansa blinked rapidly and steadied her resolve. “I promised to marry Ser Loras.”

She watched as Jaime stiffened and the openness of his expression was gone in a blink. It was like looking into the face of a stranger, the Jaime she had known through their dreams was now only a distant memory and the man sitting there with a sneer was bearing only a passing resemblance to her beloved soulmate. 

“Well, you lack his favorite body parts.”

“That’s not what our marriage will be about.” Sansa sighed and wished for the comfort of his touch even as it seemed their conversation would not continue to be pleasant. They had never fought before, exactly, but she knew how unpleasant all the Lannisters could become in a manner of moments. It was disconcerting, how easily he could close his true self off in the waking world.

“You promised to never leave me,” he said next, his eyes hard as emeralds and jaw clenched. “I remember that quite clearly, Sansa.”

She bit her lip and reached for his hand but Jaime jerked his arm away, glaring at her, breathing hard. The betrayal in his eyes pierced through her and she didn’t understand why he did not wish her having her freedom. She had let him go years ago because that was the right to do for the one who didn’t return her love.

“We’ll always have our dreams,” she whispered. Didn’t he understand that she couldn’t go on like this? With him back in King’s Landing, she needed to go. Sansa’s heart would surely break in two when she saw him with his sister. “The reality, Ser Jaime, is something entirely different.”

“Is it?” He scoffed, rose to his feet, and bowed slightly. “Well then, I better leave you to your reality, Lady Sansa.”

And with that, the impossible man was gone. Sansa remained seated for a moment longer, swallowed the tears, and then continued with her embroidering. Her trembling heart was promptly ignored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I can’t express how much I enjoyed disappointing poor Jaime in this chapter. He kind of expected that Sansa would sit and wait for him. Well. *grins* Our girl is trying to save herself. You better get moving fast, Jaime! *smirks*  
> I’m kind of dropping this here in a hurry which means I’m behind replying to comments on the previous chapter, I know, and I’m sorry. Things are kind of crazy here but I still love comments *winks* and I’ll be replying to them tomorrow, so feel free to share with me your thoughts *winks twice*  
> Lots of love, Mage :)


	12. Part XII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone’s world crumbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No need for tissues *winks*

King’s Landing, 300 AC

Jaime begged exhaustion when the summons from his father arrived. He barricaded himself in his chambers, took a long hot bath, ate a hearty meal, and then proceeded to drink the finest wine the King’s Landing had to offer.

He felt miserable. This wasn’t the homecoming he had been expecting at all. He had hoped that after the debacle with Cersei, after seeing the disgust she had shown him, Sansa’s presence would be a calming balm on his weary soul. For several short moments, he felt content, happy… until she had expressed her wish to marry that Tyrell boy.

Not being used to drinking wine these days, Jaime found himself slumped gracelessly at the table, staring morosely out into the bright afternoon light outside his windows.

How could she even think about it? Marrying a man who could not offer her even the simple pleasure of the flesh, who still probably pined for the youngest Baratheon brother? Had she lost her mind? What was so great about Highgarden and a Tyrell that she wanted to leave King’s Landing – and him?

Jaime snorted and reached for his goblet. He knew that it had nothing to do with him or Loras and everything to do with King’s Landing and Highgarden. He had seen how Sansa suffered within these walls at the hands of Joffrey and Cersei and he could hardly blame her for trying to leave. Jaime just resented the fact that he had spent months on a terrible journey to the capital only to find her ready to depart.

Didn’t Sansa understand that he could not follow her to the Tyrell seat of power? How was he supposed to keep his soul safe if she gallivanted around the Reach?

There was a brief moment of clarity when Jaime thought that he could send Brienne with his soul. Brienne would do her best to keep Sansa safe, but he could just as well just send Sansa back to the Young Wolf. The result would be the same, wouldn’t it? His soul would be gone from his reach.

No. That was not going to happen. He had to do something else because Jaime was not willing to even contemplate the possibility of life without his soul nearby. He had allowed Sansa to fend for herself once and look how it had ended up. No more. The Tyrells only wanted to _use_ Sansa and the Northmen…

Jaime thought he was going to be sick when he realized that the King in the North would surely marry his sister off to an ally of his. No, no. Jaime couldn’t allow that!

“So, I see Cersei was right, then. She did a number on you if you’re this drunk.”

What? Jaime turned slowly at his brother’s voice and stared blearily at him. By the gods, the scar splitting his face was truly something, he mused, momentarily distracted from his dark, desperate thoughts.

“Brother!” Jaime tried to stand up but Tyrion offered him a small smirk and shook his head, hopping up onto the chair next to him. Then they shared an awkward half-hug and his baby brother reached to pour himself a goblet of wine.

“I’ll have to even the ground, won’t I?” he grinned and then continued casually, “She just wouldn’t shut up about how horrible your injury was. Have you had a maester have a look at it? We have somehow acquired this funny strange man by the name of Qyburn. It’s shocking, but he knows what he’s doing.”

“No.” His sister hadn’t actually crossed his mind much since he started drinking. “Cersei talks about me?”

“Our sister wants to have you removed from the Kingsguard, too. Something she and Father wholeheartedly agreed on – which you would have known if you had shown up earlier this afternoon in the Hand’s study. Then again, I understand that wine’s much more preferable…”

“What?” Jaime cried out in disbelief and tried to stand up again. That was what the summons had been about? His release from the Kingsguard? Cersei had allowed it? Supported it? Perhaps even suggested it? Had his sister lost her mind?

“One-armed man cannot properly protect our beloved Joffrey now, can he?” Tyrion pressed him back into the chair with surprising strength. “I’m used to being backstabbed by our esteemed family, but you look like you’ve just been hit over the head with Robert’s war hammer. May he rest in peace and may cattle piss on his grave.”

Jaime was reeling and he covered his face with his hand. “They cannot be serious.”

He wasn’t sure if he was referring to his father, to his sister or to Sansa. Had it all been for nothing? Why had Jaime bothered to come home at all? Sansa wanted to marry a bloody pillow biter and Cersei couldn’t get rid of him fast enough. By removing him from the Kingsguard, she would effectively stop any possible intimacy between them. Jaime would become the heir to the Rock and his duties would lead him away from the capital, especially if their father remained the Hand… and Tywin Lannister had a realm to run and a war to win. He would not return to the Westerlands before those two objectives were achieved.

His heart clenched painfully. Had he been wrong all these years in assuming that Cersei would never want to be parted from him? It was becoming quite obvious. Jaime had sacrificed his home, his honor, his pride – everything – for their love. Even his soul.

Choking back a half-groan, a half-sob, he took a deep breath. His soul, bruised and beaten and beautifully patient wanted to leave him, too. He had never given her a reason to stay, after all.

Tyrion was observing him with pity and Jaime wanted to hide from his brother’s inquisitive gaze. He had been the strong one, always… But that had been before, when Jaime had been whole and absolutely sure of his place in the world, at Cersei’s side. Now? He couldn’t be sure of anything anymore. Who was he, Jaime Lannister? He was a one-handed Kingsguard who had forsaken every single one of his vows, a knight whose word had no value, meant nothing. Even Sansa thought so, for why else had she made plans to leave his protection?

It hit him then that she had been _resigned_ to do all that. Sansa did not believe that Jaime was able to keep her safe, to be her protector. That was it, wasn’t it? At that moment, as he slumped even further, Jaime wished that he was someone else. Some strong and brave who would not crumble under the weight of expectations as he had done.

Jaime felt like a boy again who had everything ripped away from him by the Mad king’s order – scared and confused.

He had killed that king and then had refused to be the son his father had needed him to be, and he had obviously not been what a brother should be to Cersei, had never shielded Tyrion enough from their father’s bitterness… Disappointing his soul had been only one of Jaime’s many failings.

“I’m sorry to be a bearer of bad news, Jaime.” Tyrion shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I know you love our sister.”

The way he said the word – _love_ – made Jaime uncomfortable. He had always suspected that Tyrion _knew_ and now he had those suspicions confirmed. Glancing at his brother from the corner of his eye, he asked hoarsely, “Is that all? Or is there something more you want to tell me about Cersei?”

Jaime watched as Tyrion grimaced and took a long drink of his wine. Had it all been a lie? Had he lost every good part of himself for nothing but an illusion of love? “Tyrion, please. I need to know _all_ you can tell me.”

His brother remained silent, his eyes flitting away from him. Then he sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t want to cause you more pain.”

Dread settled in Jaime’s stomach but he grasped Tyrion’s shoulder. Tyrion would not lie to him and Jaime knew that his world was about to shatter. A part of him had perhaps expected it – and gods knew he didn’t deserve anything but pain and misery.

Reaching for his goblet again, he drained its contents. He would listen to his brother. He would drink and rage and mourn his old life today, mourn the man he had been. Tomorrow, Jaime would sort out the mess he had made of things. Tomorrow, he would be someone else – someone braver and stronger. Someone whom his soul could trust.

Steeling his resolve, Jaime looked at his brother with surprisingly clear eyes and asked, “Tell me everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-ta, Cersei *waves the queen goodbye* Tyrion is gonna tell him everything now! And Jaime’s gonna believe him! Your days of ruling over our dear slow boy are over!
> 
> So, we are leaning away from the canon even further. I have to say it’s a great relief for me and I’m glad that this part of the story is over *winks* Now, though, you can’t be sure of anything anymore *giggles madly*
> 
> Also, I don’t have any idea if any of you also read ‘Blood of the Wolf,’ but the sixth chapter is almost done, so it should be up soon. It’s one of my best works and I’m so proud of that story that I had to share this info with you, sorry *grins* You are all welcome to read it, of course, but it’s not for everyone *winks*
> 
> Stay safe, Mage :)


	13. Part XIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa’s got a bad feeling about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How exactly did Jaime sort out the mess? Well. He’s Jaime *shrugs*

King’s Landing, 300 AC

Sansa wasn’t entirely sure what was going on as she was marched into the Lord Hand’s study by two Lannister soldiers. She had slept poorly, tossing and turning and thinking about the hurt expression in Jaime’s eyes from the day before… And now she was to face his father?

She wasn’t sure what was going on but she did not like it.

The Lord Hand was sitting behind his desk when she entered. Her guards closed the door behind her as Sansa cautiously approached the desk and waited to be acknowledged. Sansa was used to being ignored – she preferred it to being beaten – so Lord Tywin’s behavior did not disconcert her.

It was almost full ten minutes after Sansa had been shoved in that Lord Lannister finished his letter and glanced up at her.

“Lady Sansa,” he said calmly, his assessing eyes focused on her. “It has come to my attention that you have been negotiating a marriage for yourself with young Ser Loras. Is it true?”

Sansa’s heart stopped beating and her eyes grew large. How could Lord Lannister know that? She and the Tyrells had been very careful not to let anything slip – the keep was full of spies, after all, and Sansa knew that her only chance was discreetness. The only person who knew about her plans was Jaime and he would surely not tell on her… Remembering the sneer, the betrayal shining from his eyes, though, Sansa bit her lower lip.

Was it possible that Jaime had been so enraged by her possible match with Ser Loras that he had gone and told his father? Why would he want to destroy her only chance of escaping? He didn’t love her, Jaime didn’t _want_ her. He should let Sansa go, then.

“I am, understandably, quite insulted if that is the case. You are a ward of the Crown and I am the one responsible for any and all dealings concerning your person in the king’s stead, Lady Sansa. I am the one to decide who you will or will not marry, are we clear?”

Lord Lannister’s voice brooked no argument and he was staring at her with eyes as cold as ice. When she inclined her head, the Lord Hand nodded to the chair in front of his desk. “Sit.”

Sansa sat down with all the grace of a well-bred young lady and primly let him lead the conversation as was proper – she was a simple-minded girl, after all, wasn’t she?

The Great Lion continued to observe her and then he glanced at the hands folded in her lap. For a moment, he seemed to be contemplating something and then he spoke again.

“My eldest son is to be released from his duties as a Kingsguard and assume his rightful place as the future lord of Casterly Rock. He came to me this morning asking me to arrange a match between the two of you. When I asked why I should even consider marrying my heir to a traitor’s daughter and an enemy’s sister, Jaime claimed you as the mate of his soul.”

Whatever Sansa had expected to hear, that wasn’t it. She felt her breath catch in her throat and her heart stop beating altogether as she sat there, stunned. Her expression further betrayed her, the shock clearly written across her face. Her mouth opened soundlessly and then closed again, no pretty song coming out.

Jaime surely hadn’t done that. He couldn’t have acknowledged their connection, couldn’t have asked his father to arrange the match. Sansa knew that Jaime cared about her but he certainly did not love her the way she so desperately wanted him to. What about the love he held for the queen? Without the white and gold of the Kingsguard, he couldn’t stay close to his twin and she shuddered at Cersei’s possible reaction to the news. 

Was he playing one of their games? It was possible. He was a lion, after all, and it shouldn’t matter that they shared a soul… Jaime was a Lannister and Lannisters wanted the Starks _broken_. Had she been wrong to trust him?

“Unfortunately, his left hand has been removed from the wrist. Even if you bear a soulmark, it’s impossible to prove that the pattern matched his. I have to ask you to tell me truthfully whether or not you share dreams with my son.” Lord Lannister gave her a piercing look. “Think carefully about your answer – I’ll know if you lie and you wouldn’t like the consequences of lying to me, Lady Sansa.”

Sansa’s heart decided that this was the moment to start beating furiously. Her palms were sweaty, she felt lightheaded, but she could not break eye contact with Lord Hand. Did he want to hear the truth? Should she tell him? Did she have another choice or would it be her head on a stake next?

“We share dreams,” she said in a faint voice, closing her eyes. She felt lightheaded. It felt like everything was over for her – like her life had been forfeit. She would never marry Loras now that Lord Lannister knew of the plan. She would never escape King’s Landing alive.

As soon as those words left her lips, an enormous weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Sansa had lied to her own father when he had asked her a similar question and had borne the weight of that lie with her ever since. All of her tragedy had started with those faithful words, spoken so long ago by a stupid child. Telling the truth to Jaime’s father here and now was liberating if nothing else. What could he possibly do to her that already hadn’t been done? Humiliate her? Beat her? Nothing they could do to Sansa would break her. Her soul had broken her so many years ago. What would one truth matter?

In a stronger voice, she nodded, “We’ve shared them since forever.”

Lord Lannister observed her carefully for a moment longer before something like triumph entered his eyes. Then he swiftly rose from the chair, rounded his desk, and offered her his hand.

Sansa accepted it and was pulled to her feet. Then she watched, shocked, as the Great Lion bowed to her slightly. Sansa dropped a curtsey in response and blushed against her will when the man’s next word reached her.

“Then allow me to welcome you into the family, Daughter.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She heard herself say softly. Being a daughter to a man like him – Jaime’s wife – could it save her? Could it help her family? Or would it doom them? Would it mean that the last of the Starks would die, murdered in a plot to grab the North?

His face remained impassive but his eyes – not quite like Jaime’s but still reminding her of the Young Lion – did not appear as cold as before when he briefly glanced at the wide bracelet covering Sansa’s wrist.

“Why haven’t you said anything before, Lady Sansa?”

She was struck dumb for a second and her heart squeezed painfully in her chest as she looked up into Lord Lannister’s face. Saying that the rumors Lord Stannis had spread were _not_ rumors would not win her any favors. She had no answer ready and wondered why he had not asked his son about that.

“I…”

“Spare me any nonsense,” he warned her sharply. “I’m perfectly aware of the treatment you received here, and how you survived, Lady Sansa.”

Of course, he was. His presence had stopped most of the abuse, and for that alone she had been thankful. “With the war, my lord, and Ser Jaime absent from the capital, it would have looked like I was lying to better my position.”

“That little mark on your wrist could have prevented the whole mess in the first place, Lady Sansa. Try again, and this is the last warning I give you.”

The foundations of this whole mess had been laid long before she had been born. Sansa doubted that her bond to Jaime would have stopped the Baratheon brothers from declaring Joffrey an inbred bastard, so war had always been inevitable.

She absently moved to touch the mark, to rub at it in agitation as she watched Lord Lannister watching her. He did remind her of a lion truly, with his golden hair and beard and the predatory look in his eyes. Jaime would look like him in his later years, their family resemblance was strong.

“We spoke when we met. He didn’t want me, he hadn’t waited.” As the words left her lips in a sigh, she lowered her head and gazed at the floor. A shudder ran through her body. The devastation of that awful discovery had been almost unbearable. It had been so acute, so crushing. Sansa had learned to live with the knowledge, however, and it did not cripple her any longer. It still brought pain, though, even after all those years.

A sharp intake of breath forced her to glance at the Lord Hand. His eyes burned with anger and his lips were pursed together, jaw clenched. Sansa understood that that simple sentence had perhaps confirmed his own suspicions and she shuddered again, this time in fear of the man.

“He’s always been a little slow,” Lord Lannister forced out through clenched teeth. His next words were steely and Sansa didn’t miss the threat in them, “Well, at least we can avoid any more missteps, can’t we, my lady?”

“Of course, my lord.”

“I’m glad we understand each other, Daughter.” With an impatient twitch of his head that might have been another bow, Lord Lannister stepped back and returned to his desk. Recognizing dismissal when she saw one, Sansa curtseyed and departed his presence.

Jaime had promised to keep her safe from the deranged cub sitting the throne, but Sansa had a feeling he had just dragged her from her safe hideout and thrown her at the mercy of the whole lion pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess it was not unexpected but I still hope Jaime’s solution didn’t disappoint *giggles* Locke was kind of right. Whenever there is a problem, the kids run up to their daddy and Tywin sorts it out *grins* As I was writing this chapter, I was reminded of ‘King of Winter,’ and yeah, it feels like I’m subconsciously recycling scenes from my other stories… I feel like I have a very precise idea of how characters are supposed to behave… and that seems to change only a little across my works. That reminds me… if there are any Tommen/Sansa fans, a new update for ‘King’ is almost ready, so stay tuned *winks*  
> I’m sorry for not posting on Thursday as usual. These last two weeks were insane. My hands are doing much better and I hope that I’ll be back to full mobility sometime at the end of the summer *grins* I can’t wait. Oh, and this story is going to be updated every Sunday from now on, just that you know. Thursdays don’t work for me anymore.  
> I hope you’re all safe and lots of love, Mage :)


	14. Part XIV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime faces his responsibilities and does what his honor demands. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really sorry for not posting earlier and for not replying to comments. Now, let’s have some popcorn and watch Jaime be a man! *cheers loudly*

King’s Landing, 300 AC

Thin but well-dressed, shaven, and with hair cut short, Jaime felt better than he had in years. His steps were purposeful as he marched through the keep. The audience with his father had gone well. It almost seemed that Lord Tywin was glad to have him back even with only one hand – Jaime still had his sword hand, after all. So, in their father’s eyes, he wasn’t a complete waste of space l just yet. Lord Hand had been also taken aback by Jaime’s decision not to fight his release from the Kingsguard – and when the younger lion had presented his demand to be married to Sansa, he could have sworn that his father had been even thrilled.

Jaime smirked. He supposed that for the Great Lion, the turn of events had been a dream came true at last. Lord Tywin would get his long-awaited heir back, his son would finally settle down with a bride of acceptable breeding, and he would get an edge over the Stark boy and a strong claim to Winterfell that couldn’t be disputed.

It was one thing to marry the northern ‘princess’ to a southern lord against the consent of her family. If Sansa married a random Lannister vassal, the Northerners would contest the marriage until their last breath. If Sansa married the other half of her soul, even the Starks would be forced to admit the legitimacy of such a union.

The chances of finding your soul’s mate were rare and the right circumstances for the bond to form even rarer. Jaime grimaced. He had been a fool in his youth to ignore such a blessing. Perhaps now, when he wasn’t blinded by his own selfish desires, he could treat Sansa as she deserved. That was his goal, his life’s mission now. The decision had been surprisingly easy to make – even though Jaime did resent the fact that Locke had been right. He had run to his father with the problem and Lord Tywin Lannister had taken care of it, the benefits to their family greatly pleasing the Old Lion.

They were nowhere near defeating the Starks on the field of battle and unless Sansa’s brother dropped dead from food poisoning or something just as unlikely, he would continue to be an obstacle. The longer Robb Stark continued to defy the Iron Throne, the less support Jaime’s family would get in the war. The Vale and Dorne were still neutral and could decide to join on either side and Stannis was still hiding on that pitiful rock of his, plotting his next move.

He stopped in front of the door and took a deep breath. Jaime was a man whose honor had been trampled into the ground but he felt that from now on, he could get some of it back. Defending his soul, his lady, was something that even Brienne would approve of.

Pushing the door open, he walked into the room, calling out, “Cersei? Sister?”

For a moment, he heard nothing, and then his sister emerged from her personal garden. She was a vision in a gown heavily embroidered with gold and with the sun in her hair and a small smile in the corner of her lips. The effect was ruined, however, as all Jaime could see was a woman who had fucked the idiot Lancel. She had been infatuated with Rhaegar – and briefly even with Robert – and now she had slept with their pretty young cousin. How he hadn’t seen the shallowness before this moment was beyond Jaime.

“Jaime,” she greeted, putting her goblet of wine down on a small table before turning her attention to him fully. Then she moved forward to kiss his cheek. “I must say, you look much better now.”

He waited for the familiar heaviness of longing to assault him but his heart gave only a small wounded twitch and remained beating regularly. Whatever they had shared, it seemed to be dead and gone.

Cersei lingered for a moment, perhaps also waiting for the familiar spark, and just as Jaime turned his head to return the welcome kiss, she stepped away. The rejection had left him unaffected, only confirming what he had already known. She no longer had any claims to that stubborn heart of his.

Frowning to himself, Jaime followed to sit next to his sister and reached out to play with her hair, expecting to feel at least something – anything. He had loved her for ages, after all, and she was still his sister.

“Don’t.” Cersei stopped him coldly, her mood shifting. She stood up quickly, retrieving her goblet of wine. His sister then took a seat at the table and watched him with accusing eyes. He knew the signs of her anger – it was only a matter of time before Cersei would let him know the reason behind her ire.

Looking at the wine jug and goblet, he said idly, “You drink more than you used to.”

“And you are surprised? Everything’s changed.”

Jaime couldn’t agree more. He braced himself for a fight and shrugged, “Oh? What has changed?”

“Are you serious?” Cersei scoffed. “You come back after all this time with no apologies and one hand and expect everything to be the same?”

“Apologies? What for?” Jaime clenched his jaw. He certainly hadn’t been aware that he had hurt or betrayed their love in any way – it wasn’t him who had been fucking their cousin, was it? It wasn’t him who had let the other rot in their enemies’ hands and done nothing to stop it.

“For leaving me! You left me alone.”

He hadn’t left her willingly, and Cersei bloody well knew that Jaime had hardly wanted to be kept a prisoner… And she certainly hadn’t been _alone_ – she had been surrounded by their family, guards, and servants ready to attend to her every whim while he had stupidly pined for her, like an animal chained to a pole in a cage.

Jaime rose from his seat slowly and forced himself to take a calming breath – he wouldn’t want to do or say something regretful. His soul had taught him that he should try to control these impulses more – and Sansa was the only one deserving a thousand apologies for leaving _her_ alone and unprotected in a place full of cold, wicked people like his sister and their monstrous son.

“I planned my escape every day and I murdered people so I could return here-”

“You took too long.” Cersei’s voice was cold and her eyes even colder. “You just took too long.”

Suddenly Jaime was so very glad that he had not suffered all he had just to get back to Cersei. Seeing how little she appreciated his return and how well distracted she had been while Jaime had been gone, he was glad that his main motivator had been his soul. It seemed that his heart had been blind and had steered him wrong. But no more, he’d see to that.

Straightening, Jaime smirked and inclined his head. “I’m glad that we’ve cleared this up, beloved sister. I actually came here now to share happy news with you. Wish me well because I am to be wed.”

All color drained from Cersei’s face and she put her goblet down on the table forcefully. “What?”

“I’ve decided to honor our lord father’s wishes and retake my rightful place as his son and heir, and Father was kind enough to provide me with a suitable bride to continue the Lannister bloodline.” Jaime was enjoying the look of shock and slight disgust on her face maybe too much but he wanted her to feel the same sting of betrayal he had felt when Tyrion had told him about Lancel. He hadn’t been jealous, to his own surprise, just hurt. Cersei was his sister first and foremost, and he had expected better of her.

“You can’t be serious…”

“Oh, I am.” Quick as lightning, he moved to lean over the table, his face only a breath from Cersei’s, fist planted on the wood. “I’m not afraid to call in all the debt the Crown owes the Lannisters of Casterly Rock. There won’t be any money to pay for your wine and food and dresses, for your guards or servants, and that ridiculous affair you call the royal wedding. So, you better teach our eldest some manners, Cersei, because if he even _looks_ in the direction of Lady Sansa, the king will have the full power of House Lannister to contend with. Are we clear?”

Her response was quite predictable.

“The Stark bitch?! Father would never let you get away with doing that to me and my son for a traitor’s daughter! We are Lannisters, unlike the little simpering fool!” Cersei hissed – a lioness defending her rights. Oh, she was beautiful when she was furious but the image left Jaime cold inside.

“I’m all Father’s got,” Jaime smirked. “You married a Baratheon. Your son is a king only because he bears Robert’s name, sweet sister. Or do you want to tell the whole world the truth? That the rumors are true?”

Her face paled and then flushed and he realized that Cersei was capable of doing just that, of destroying everything.

“Will you rather destroy us all or behave, hmm?”Jaime showed his teeth in a dangerous smile. “We’ll be dead. You. Me. Joffrey. Myrcella will be killed, too, useless to the Martells. Tommen would be lucky to be kept a hostage against our father until they too are both dead. Tyrion will then get the Rock and bend the knee to whoever comes along. The Tyrells, or maybe Stannis – or even Robb Stark could march all the way to King’s Landing and seize the throne if all the lions are dead.”

“You’d do that to us, not me!” Cersei’s eyes filled with tears. “How can you say these things? Even think them? Let alone do them!? We’re family, Jaime! You, and me, and our beautiful children…”

Jaime remembered how the sight of his sister’s tears had used to make him feel. In his mind, however, he saw another pair of eyes filled with genuine suffering. His poor soul had been bearing the brunt of his mistakes. It made Jaime angry, that Cersei tried to use his only good quality – his love for his family – against his soul. Then he also remembered how he had never been allowed to be even the children’s uncle, let alone their father, how he had had to keep away to lessen the risks of discovery.

“Sansa’s going to fill Casterly Rock with beautiful, _trueborn_ children – and I’ll be happy to assist her.” It was a low blow, but it was extremely satisfying to say those words and watch Cersei’s face take on a sneering expression. 

“I hope you’ll be reasonable, Cersei. We’re no longer playing a harmless game.” Jaime straightened and turned to leave the room. The idea of being able to be a father to a brood of blue-eyed lion cubs wasn’t a bad one. He even liked the thought.

“I won’t let you do this to me!” screeched Cersei and instinct told him to duck. The goblet flew harmlessly over his head. He didn’t acknowledge it in any way, having said his piece, and continued to the door.

“You’ll regret this, Jaime! Do you hear me?! You’ll regret betraying me like this!”

At those words, Jaime opened the door and whispered, “I regret only one thing, beloved sister. I regret ever falling for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Jaime, my boy! That was… quite nicely done, though you definitely should listen to your soulmate when she says NOT to infuriate people needlessly. Cersei doesn’t look too pleased by your happy news and the idea of Casterly Rock filled up with wolf cubs! *winks*
> 
> Now… that was extremely satisfying. Anyway, my poor laptop died and I’m either forced to stay longer at work to write/post/edit any of my stories, or to annoy friends and family and beg access to theirs. Visiting the in-laws and spending two hours using their computer looks a bit weird *sighs*  
> I love your comments and reading them always lifts my mood – I’m just unable to reply to them... Everyone who knows me is aware of how much I hate typing on my phone. That thing hates me passionately in return. Any updates are therefore going to be delayed.  
> Love you all :)


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